The Waking (29 page)

“
No. I’m not. I’m not ready to go home yet.”

“
Okay then. Take Highway Four as far as it goes—”

“
I’ll be fine, Rose,” I interrupt. “Really.”

“
You could go down to my people,” Rufus suggests. “They’ll hide you out for a while. I mean, we got three hundred acres, right? Plenty of places to hide. There’s this one place at the head of the hollow—”

I laugh because “hollow” comes out as “holler.” He is so country! “I don’t want to bring them any trouble.” I shake his hand. “I’m a fugitive from justice, remember?”

“
Yeah.” He squeezes my hand gently for a change. “I’ll never forget you, Manny Mann.”

Rose steps between us and kisses my cheek. “Seems you’ve been a victim
of
justice, too.” She gives me a long hug. “I’ll be praying for you.”

“
Me, too,” Rufus adds.

Then Penny bursts into the room, spilling a plastic bag of notepads and pens onto the floor. “I, uh, I heard you liked to write.” She has tears in her eyes as she collects the notepads and pens. “You’re gonna be careful, right?”

“
Yeah.” I take the notepads and put them in my backpack as she drops in the pens. “I’ll be careful, sister Penny.”

She hugs me. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”

“
Don’t be.”

She kisses my cheek. “I’ll be thinking of you, brother Manny.”

I step back from her. “I don’t have much time, so …”

“
You get your money?” Rose asks with an edge in her voice.

“
Yes ma’am.” I nod. I know what I have to do. “I’ll, uh, I’ll need to give you some so you can write some checks for me and mail them back to Pittsburgh.”

She smiles. “I’d be honored.”

I count out all but ninety dollars or so and give the rest of the money to Rose. “Just split it in half,” I tell her. Then I write two quick notes to Auntie June and Mary:

I address two envelopes and hand them to Rose. “You might, um, want to explain why the checks are from you, you know, so they don’t get torn up.”

“
I will.” She reaches into her vest pocket and withdraws a calling card. “I have about an hour left on this thing, so feel free to use it to …” Her eyes fill with tears. “Use it to stay in touch with those you love.”

Then we do a group hug, just me, an old black lady, a big black man, and a young white-black girl, and it feels nice. “Thank you all.”

“
It’s
y’all,
” Penny says.

“
Sorry. Thank
y’all
for everything. I’ll never forget you.” As long as I live and then some.

They stand with me near the gangplank as the
American Queen
eases into the dock at Tunica. All the things I want to say to each of them go unsaid, but I hope they understand.

Only Rose speaks. “Make haste slowly,” she says. “And get up mighty.”

“
I will,” I say, and with a simple wave, I blend in with the rest of passengers and walk off, disappearing into another neon sky.

Part III: On the Rail

13: On the
Illinois Central

It’s a lonely sundown walk through Tunica, which I guess is as glitzy as Las Vegas is supposed to be only on a much smaller scale, but I don’t notice any of that glitz until I’m a couple miles past the casinos on Highway 4. All those lights and electricity beckoning people to spend money, and here I am with less than a hundred dollars and a backpack full of food, notepads, and pens. I know I’m better off. I just wish I didn’t have to leave three good friends behind.

You still got me.

You aren’t my friend.

I could be.

Past the small town of Little Texas, I leave Highway 4 and see some train tracks running north and south. I had seen the Reaper and several other kids jumping on trains once, and it didn’t look too hard. Of course, those trains weren’t moving very fast, and I’m definitely not as young and agile as I used to be. I hope I can manage. At least I’ll be miles away from where I’m supposed to be. But do I go north or south?

Time to think like a cop. I imagine the cops in Memphis searching the boat and coming up empty. “He jumped ship, Jimmy Joe,” one will say. “But where, Bobby Ray?” the other will say. “If I was him, I’d go south, Jimmy Joe.” Jimmy Joe will scratch his crew cut and ask, “Why’s that, Bobby Ray?” Bobby Ray will stick an entire pouch of chewing tobacco into his mouth and spit a stream onto Jimmy Joe’s new shoes before saying, “Cuz he wants us to believe he’s going south since goin’ north will only take him right into trouble, so he tries to make us believe he’s goin’ north when he’s really goin’ south.” Jimmy Joe will wipe his shoes off with a monogrammed handkerchief and say, “So we’ll put out an APB on him all points south?” Bobby Ray will smack Jimmy Joe on the back of the head. “Ain’t you been listenin’, Jimmy Joe? If we do that, we’ll spook him for sure and then he’ll run east or west. We got to make him think he’s safe.”

It’s amazing what goes through your head when you’re on the run.

You been watching too much TV, Manny.

I know.

I decide to follow the tracks north for no real reason. The air, though cool, is so humid I begin to sweat, and in half an hour, I am glistening. Maybe it’s dew, who knows? And except for the occasional scrape of my boots on the railroad ties, which are as uneven as the pavement on the Hill, and some annoying gnats and mosquitoes buzzing around my ears and eyes, it’s so quiet that I can hear my stomach growling. I eat some of Rose’s good chicken, tossing the bones into the thickets on either side, and just generally make haste slowly until I hear a train whistle in the distance. I should have stayed back at a crossing where trains slow down sometimes. Out here in the wilderness, that train won’t be stopping or slowing for anything, and if I jump and miss and get dragged under the wheels …

That wouldn’t be good.

No, it wouldn’t.

I decide I need more sugar and eat several brownies, tearing off large chunks and downing them with some iced tea. If nothing else, it will make my backpack lighter. I stand in the middle of the tracks and look for the headlight of a train. Nothing. Okay, now do I get on the train on the right side or the left? Does it matter? The cars have doors and ladders on both sides, don’t they?

Like one of those cars will have an open door.

Hush. I’m thinking.

I could shoot for the caboose, but if I miss, I’ll have to wait on another train, maybe one that won’t come until daylight. But what if it doesn’t have a caboose and I wait for nothing? And don’t some folks work in the caboose? They may not be too friendly to a new passenger. I may just have to aim for a middle car and hold on for dear life, maybe even get dragged a little ways.

Better tie your shoes then. You know how you love those boots.

Shh.

I hear the whistle again, and it seems to be coming from the south. It’s hard to tell since it echoes some. I eat the rest of the chicken. If nothing else, I’m going to have a nice last meal and the lightest backpack possible. I even suck down the rest of the iced tea, but I keep the container, just in case I have to pee.

When the ground begins to shake and the rails begin to hum, I know it must be close. I just wish I could see it, but this stretch is so flat. I should be waiting near a hill or something, so I can—

There it is, and it’s in a hurry, a single white light growing bigger by the second. Right or left? I take out a quarter. Heads, I go right. Tails, I go left.

I flip the coin and see George Washington’s head. To the right then, but how close do I stand to the rail? And why does the ground slope down from the rail? Probably so folks like me have trouble jumping on. Here comes the engine and—

It’s already by me.

There ain’t no way I can get on this train!

You got that right.

It has to be doing thirty, maybe forty miles an hour. What was I thinking? And it’s so dark! I run north alongside the rushing train looking for an opening, looking for anything I can see to hold onto. A few have little ladders, but most don’t. How do they do this in the movies? I’m not a stunt man.

While I run, I tie the backpack to my chest and feel the iced tea sloshing around in my stomach. I shouldn’t have sucked it all down, but I needed to be lighter, and—

Is that the caboose back there already? I have to get on now!

I trip over something and fall, knocking the air out of my lungs.

Very smooth.

Shut up.

This is great. Maybe I’m not supposed to get on this train. Maybe I’m supposed to lie here in the dewy dirt being dive-bombed by mosquitoes until it’s light enough to see. Maybe I’m supposed to—

That wasn’t the caboose. I stand, the wind whipping through my clothes. This is one really long train. Is it slowing down? The horn sounds from far to my right. Maybe there’s a crossing ahead, and they have to slow down. I start to trot, the squeal of the wheels reminding me of Rufus and his pig farm.

It also reminds me of that castration story, and I don’t want to be thinking about that while I’m—

There’s a longer ladder that I can see clearly. I speed up, trip, and fall, rolling down the bank away from the tracks.

You just need a little more practice.

Shut up!

This is ridiculous. I brush myself off and stand, expecting the caboose to roll by, but the train keeps flying by, car after car. This has to be the longest train in the world. Okay, three’s a charm, so they say. I can’t look foolish three times in one night … can I?

I bet you can.

I ignore The Voice and look as far to my left as I can, focusing on a car while a gnat crawls into my left eye. Then I start sprinting, keeping my right eye on that car, hoping it has something I can grab to pull myself up, praying that I don’t trip and fall again because I’m sure I’ll never get up. Are my hands even able to latch onto anything? I edge closer and closer to the train, flexing and daring my wounded hands to reach out. The car I’ve been focusing on is almost here. I wipe my hands on my pants, and with a firm planting of my right foot, I leap toward a small ladder, hands extended, gripping cold metal and smiling and—

Okay, now we’re being dragged, and my feet are bouncing, just bouncing, got to pull myself up to the next rung and—

Got it. Just my left foot bouncing and—

There. I’m on the train, I still have my boots, I still have all my body parts, and my hands are screaming, and my shoulders want to rip themselves from my body, and I have to get a leg up—

There. Right leg on the ladder, now left leg on the ladder. I feel like a fly on a wall that won’t stop flying. I look up. The ladder continues almost to the top. Should I ride on top of the car or what? If there is a crossing coming up, someone will surely see me no matter if I’m spread-eagled here or lying flat on top, unless it’s too dark for anyone to see …

I start climbing, one rung at a time, the horn sounding in the distance. If I can just get to the roof, I’ll be fine … unless this train goes in tunnels. I’ve seen too many movies where the bad guy bites it in a train tunnel. But maybe I can get to the roof and climb down in between the cars. That might work.

By the time I get to the top of the ladder, though, I feel blood oozing through the cuts on my knuckles and burning pain in my shoulders, not to mention the little gnat dying slowly inside my left eyelid. I am too tired to go any further. I untie the front strap from the backpack and tie it as best I can to the ladder. As long as I stay in my backpack, I’ll stay on this train, even though I’m showing my backside to the world. I wedge my boots between the ladder and the car and lean out slightly to see if the strap will hold … and it does. I feel like I’m one of those sailors lashed to his boat, leaning out over the water. The only view I have is the brown train car in front of me.

Not exactly scenic.

Not a bit.

And I ride facing the train like that for the rest of the night right on up to the sunrise, pinning myself to the ladder whenever we go through a crossing, leaning out to rest my weary arms and hands whenever I dare. The sun starts to heat up my back something fierce, sweat dripping off my forehead and running down my arms, but I’m not letting go.

Now what do I do when we get to wherever this train is going? I’ll have to untie the backpack first. I attempt to loosen the knot, but I can’t because it’s a good knot, maybe the best I’ve ever tied, and it has tightened during the night with my weight. Maybe if I slip out of the backpack, that will give me enough slack to—

We’re slowing down, the train lurching back and forth. I lean out and see a number of tracks and trains in the distance. We’re coming to a train yard, and I’m tied to a ladder, and the knot won’t come free, and my bladder is about to burst, and I’ll be caught. They may even take a picture of me tied to a train ladder and broadcast it around the world. We slow even more. This is bad, this is very bad. I lean out as far as I can, hoping the knot will break. If I had a knife, I could cut it and me loose, but …